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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25792225">How You Hold the Key</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozean/pseuds/ossseous'>ossseous (ozean)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Timeless (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Vignette</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:14:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,393</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25792225</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozean/pseuds/ossseous</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Flynn could remember most clearly the buds he’d find in the yard during his youth. Little prisons, with littler treasures hidden within. He’d pry them open, eager to find the shriveled, nascent promise of something beautiful underneath. Something yet to bloom and dead long before it ever got the chance to see the world.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>How You Hold the Key</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s like a flower bud, in a way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flynn could remember most clearly the buds he’d find in the yard during his youth. Little prisons, with littler treasures hidden within. He’d pry them open, eager to find the shriveled, nascent promise of something beautiful underneath. Something yet to bloom and dead long before it ever got the chance to see the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just then, as he pulls the coat from Lucy’s shoulders, those unlucky flowers are the only things that Flynn can conjure up in his mind. Except it's just a little different. He is no longer prying with little finger nails, caked with dirt from a day spent exploring his backyard. Instead, it is so much more like how days pass and, splitting, the calyx unfurls under the loving heat of the sun, revealing those tender petals underneath. Whole and fitting almost too perfectly in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hardly moves--only enough to help him ease the sleeves from her arms--but her head tilts just the slightest as he steps away to hang her coat on the hall tree. He lets it dissolve into her collection of jackets and scarves and muted raincoats. The colors all clashing, textures bracing, a lone blue umbrella peeking out from the bottom like a heron emerging from the reeds. She doesn't turn though, not wholly, only enough to watch his movements from the corner of her eye. He knows that’s how she does things. Delicately keeping track of the world around her, cataloguing everything she sees in that database of a mind she carries everywhere she goes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One day she might leaf through it, discover that in their time together, she has managed to collect every piece of information she needs to know in order to unravel him head to toe. If she hasn’t already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's no kiss when he returns to her. Instead, he let's her lead him by his tie as she backs up those careful little half steps to the wall. She’s yet to peel off her heels and every step seems precarious on those treacherous foyer tiles. Once her back reaches the wall, all he can do is hover near her, her fingers still tight around his tie. There's something unsaid between them that might just be capable of shattering the silence, if either of them had the guts to just bring the words to life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she is far too busy pulling at his tie, loosening it with gentle yanks before the tables tilt and suddenly she's the one prying him open, fingers just short of frantic as she unbuttons his shirt, the first, second, third coming undone, revealing his skin for her to slip her hands over, fingers up past the collar of his undershirt, warmly gliding over his collarbones, up his neck, gripping at the nape to guide him down to her height. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When her warm breath puffs along his lips, he almost suspects that is it--the moment she will finally kiss him, but there's a hesitance he can't ignore, a couple seconds of a second thought as her eyes track over his face in such a clawing desperation that he knows exactly what she needs. So he kisses her. Not her lips, but her neck, the skin of her throat is soft, yet holds nothing over the slight dip of her collar bone, or the bumpy expanse of her sternum as he stoops lower and lower, pulling her blouse open one button at a time until he is on his knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up to her, easing her knee up and slipping one of her heels off, following it with the other, placing them side by side just underneath the bench.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then it’s fair game as he pushes up her skirt up just as she’s also pulling it up in less dignified, desperate little jerks. All the elements of her morning routine still linger on her, the slight tang of her soap, the perfume dotted thoughtfully at her wrist, laundry detergent still thick in her skirt, as they work in an awkward tandem to yank it up her thighs and bunch it at her hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks he could be content to count her breaths. Each and every one as it swells deep inside her. Content to know the little sounds--frustrated and bitten off gasps, hidden under stifled sighs as she releases each breath long after its due.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t help but steal little glances, to see her, eyes shut and nostrils flared. He taps his fingers up her thighs, from knee to hip a little rhythm of </span>
  <em>
    <span>tap, tap, tap </span>
  </em>
  <span>until his fingertips find the crease of her hips, sink into the warm space, the skin there sewn with the scars of her growth, soft and faint with their age.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't give into what she wants too quickly. Her fingers--spindly things that drag across his scalp--try to nudge him subtly, push him down from where he nips light little kisses into the V her open blouse makes where it connects with the waist of her skirt. But he knows it’s only a matter of time until he gives into her. That’s all they are at this point, Lucy, an relentless force and he, the one who never once stood a chance against it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flynn doesn’t play into the tantalizing desire to draw it all out. Instead, he hooks his fingers into the elastic of her underwear and all but yanks them down to her ankles in one jerk of motion that wrenches a shuddered little gasp from somewhere deep in her chest. Her eyes are still closed but he can’t drag his own away from her face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is an image he wants seared into his memory. The tight pinch of her brows. The rise and fall of her chest as her breaths quicken, the bared strips of skin, bracketed by folds of soft fabric. Her palms flat against the wall behind her, fingers clawed around the chair rail in taut anticipation as he guides her knees apart and buries his face between her legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a light thunk, and when Flynn glances back up, he finds her head tilted back, eyes shut tight as he flicks his tongue out in hesitant laps. He waits until she is thrusting into his face before he sinks his tongue as far into her as he can, jaw aching against the stretch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The surprised little gasp she lets out at the contact drives him on as he hoists one of her knees over his shoulder. He revels in the taste of her, groans against the sweet discomfort of her heel digging into his lower back as he withdraws, only to venture a finger inside of her. Only when she whimpers does he pump it into her, taking a rhythm with the sucking kisses he puts against her clit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost as soon as it has started, it is over. Lucy grips into his hair like it is a lifeline and she is drowning and he doesn’t let the sharp sting of pain stop him as he thrusts his finger, picking up speed, adding a second in when her breaths quicken and she gets closer and closer to release.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, she tenses over him, and he supports her weight as her thighs tremble against the pleasure that wracks through her. It is a few twitches, almost full body as her fingers finally loosen in his hair. He doesn’t draw away altogether though. He lets her get used to the absence of his warmth as he stands and leans over her. Slipping his fingers free, wet and wrinkled from her, he rubs light caresses over the lips of her vulva, massages his thumb gently into her clit--he keeps his hand cupped between her legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And true to her nature, when he least expects it, she tugs his skewed tie gently and places a kiss against his lips. For all that just transpired, it’s nearly chaste, but for the lingering way her tongue traces almost minutely against his bottom lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to leave?” he asks when she pulls away, his voice even hoarser than he expects it to be. He presses his forehead to hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes are still shut, but a smile twitches against her red, red lips. “No.”</span>
</p>
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